People Watching
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: "So what exactly do all those other people in the office do?" An outsider's impression of our favourite team


**A/N – Inspired by one of my favourite procrastination activities (people watching) and a question my younger brother asked me after watching the series four finale "What the heck do all those other people in the office do exactly?"**

**Disclaimer – I have recently become the proud owner of the first four series of this show on DVD but that's as close as I get to owning anything to do with Criminal Minds. Go figure.**

_**To him that watches, everything is revealed**_

_**Italian proverb**_

With one more file to go, I finally allow myself to start thinking about date night. Penny always cooks ravioli on date night, and I always bring home a bottle of vino. It's the exact replica of the first meal that we ever shared and, since Adrian left home, date night has become a far more regular occurrence than in the days with four young kids and a job that dragged my sorry ass all over the country. It's not nearly as glamorous or exciting to be an FBI agent as the movies would have you believe and I get more of a thrill working the desk and knowing that at just gone five I can pack up and go home to my wife. Call me whatever you want – boring, stuck in a rut, whatever – but I'm happy, Penny's happy and that's all I really care about.

This file is dragging on and I have to go back to my computer for the sixth time in ten minutes to try and clarify exactly what it is I'm supposed to be doing. For the sixth time in ten minutes, my eye catches the smallest headline of the news feed that I have attached to my desktop – _FBI investigate horrific Canadian farm deaths._

Everyone in the office has already read the report; we did the moment Joe Fraser pointed it out. It's a nasty one, even by the usual standards, and I looked up at Strauss' office to see if there was any reaction. There was nothing. I guess she could have already heard – in fact, she probably did – but I have been watching that woman for almost eight years and I have never seen her do anything much besides chewing out the ass of whoever happens to be leading that team at the time. She's got something in for them, I'm sure. What that something is depends on who you're talking to; some people swear that David Rossi broke her heart back in the day and the way she acts is because of him. In many ways, I could believe that. He often seems that sort. Other people say that Jason Gideon was the problem, but only because she was in love with him and he never noticed. Not so sure about that one. Things get fuzzier where Aaron Hotchner is concerned and quite frankly, I don't even want to think about some of the more colourful speculations concerning the two of them. Whatever happened, there seems to be nothing but disdain for these people. I want to like Erin Strauss, you know, but the way she treats people is contemptible. Especially when you know the things that they have to deal with every day; it's not pretty, let's put it like that.

The file finally makes an iota of sense, and I allow the ravioli thoughts so carefully place on the back burner to come to the front of my mind once again. It's quarter to five. Fifteen minutes to kick back and look as though I'm busy. I decide to go and help myself to the lukewarm dregs left at the bottom of the coffee machine, and I'm so preoccupied that I don't notice the uncomfortable hush that descended over the room until I'm halfway back to my desk. It's a silence that I've become unfortunately accustomed to over the last eight years, and I don't need to look up to know that the primary team is just stepping out of the elevator. It's the hush that shows every single person in this office is interested in what they got up to out there. It's the hush that shows we know they've just come back from the seventh circle of hell and we're not going to get in their way. It's unfortunate, in many ways, that the days they step out of the elevator with anything close to resembling a smile on their faces are so much rarer than these days with the silences. Nursing my coffee, I gaze at them from under my eyelashes. The last thing they need is to know that people are watching them.

David Rossi breaks away first and heads up the stairs to his office. I've never known what to make of him, you know. Married three times and, if you believe the rumours, responsible for half the fraternisation rules here at the office. I don't believe the rumours myself. Sure, he gives the impression that he could be a jackass without too much effort but I've never seen him do or say anything that made me dislike the man as such. He just seems like a more intense version of a lot of FBI agents that I've met over the years. Word got round about his obsession with a cold case after he came out of retirement, and I've sometimes wondered if it wasn't that which ruined all of those marriages of his. Call me naive – maybe he's really earned all of those names I've heard over the years – but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, if only because I know how a job like ours can suck you in and consume you until you have to look twice in the mirror before you can remember who you are.

I take a sip of coffee and flash a consoling smile at Penelope Garcia as she walks past me to her cave. To her everlasting credit, she returns the gesture even though it looks like the last thing she wants to do. Damn. When she went bundling out of here a day and a half ago, I really hoped that she wouldn't come back looking like the rest of her team. I like Penelope; in fact, I don't think there's anyone in the office that doesn't. We once bonded over the coffee machine when I told her that my wife's name is Penelope too and ever since then she always wants to talk when we've had the chance. She's never away as most of her team and the way she acts around the office is often the best gauge as to how they are getting on. She tries to hide it, of course, but she is no profiler or FBI agent and I can always tell. I once heard her crying in her office and wished that I could say something to make it better. Instead I was a coward. I waited until she stopped and then I took her in a cup of coffee as though I didn't know what had happened. I don't like what being a member of that team does to Penelope – she's too bright a star to be dragged into all the crap that they have to deal with.

I look up to Strauss' office again to see if she's even going to acknowledge that they are back from what is essentially an international case. Nothing, as I suspected. Agent Jareau catches my eye, slipping into her office. I still don't know her first name, you know. They call her JJ, so I assume it starts with a J. I don't know that much about her to be honest, other than the fact that she's recently had a baby. She brought the little one in, just as I was leaving one evening. I only got a glimpse of him before the team descended. It's rare to see a grown man go gooey over a baby but all of them managed it, even Rossi who I just didn't think was that type. They're a strange bunch. JJ was stood off to the side, watching them, and talking to Hotchner. She's pretty close to him, I think. They're usually the last two here at night and I suspect the first two in the morning as well. She's in charge of the press side of their job, so more often than not she's the one on TV. She has the face for it of course and easy to underestimate. I was here the day she shot that guy who had shot Penelope. She's not someone I'd like to mess with; maybe that's why she channels all of the calls and potential cases – because no one else wants to mess with her either. They're wrong of course – according to her best friend Penelope, she's soft as butter – but no one else knows that and I guess that's all that matters.

The slam of the door on the opposite side of the upper level tells me that Hotchner has shut the world out and, sure enough, I look around just in time to see his blinds close. I don't think I've ever been around anyone who needs so desperately to chill out than Aaron Hotchner. Talk about a stick in the ass. Jeez, when the man actually cracks a smile its practically headline news. His wife filed for a divorce a while ago and I wasn't surprised, to tell you the truth. He practically lives here; I thought that I used to spend a lot of time at work but he's set a new record, I'm sure. By all accounts, he's had a rough couple of years. Strauss is constantly all over his every move and then he had to deal with renegade team members; there's a rumour that the young woman they had for a while – can't remember her name – actually went out and killed a guy. There's no proof but the fact that she left quickly and Hotchner went tight lipped is proof enough for many people. And then there's the case of the mysterious Jason Gideon, who just upped sticks one day and disappeared after God knows how many years in the BAU. It appears that everyone except him could see how much his team blatantly relied on him, especially Hotchner. Now I think that Hotchner is trying to be the leader and provide the support that Gideon once did. Rossi is helping, you can tell, but if there's ever another candidate for a breakdown in this office, it's Hotchner. One day, something will happen and he'll flip, just you wait. And then Strauss will want him out so fast his head will spin. I didn't believe in Shakespeare's tragic heroes until I met Aaron Hotchner.

Seven minutes to five. I'll probably have to get the wine from the Wal-Mart; I like to go to a little Italian wine place near my house but if he's having a quiet day the owner, Carl, shuts at five instead of half past. Damn, I hate the Wal-Mart. It's so busy and I just hate too many people. That comes from years of being at busy crime scenes and police stations, I guess. The cops in small scale stations always seem to take up so much room. They know their territory and they won't let up for a minute.

Derek Morgan is a bit like that. He embraces the whole 'Alpha male' thing with a passion. The BAU seems to have tamed him, but boy do you still know when he's around. It's not even like he's inherently noisy or boisterous – in fact, it's the exact opposite – but when he sits at his desk down here in the bullpen, you can't help but notice him. I expect he was a brilliant cop; intimidating, but in an understated sort of way, just enough to show that he could break your neck if he wanted to. His presence doesn't exactly scream FBI material but they must have seen something in him because he's been here a long time and he's virtually Hotchner's right hand man. Penelope adores him, and often mentions this when we chat, and I reckon she's a pretty good judge of character. I know that before he became a cop he got into some trouble, like most young men who come from areas like him, but he's cleaned himself up and you have to respect that. I've seen too many young men – some barely more than boys – dead because of some stupid gang fight and I'm genuinely glad to see Morgan being so damn good at his job. It's the wasted potential that upsets me the most but at least knowing that people like Derek Morgan exist makes it a bit more bearable.

Emily Prentiss, who has a desk adjacent to mine, suddenly appears on my peripheral vision and sits down. She's a strange one, that's the truth. I hear that she talked herself onto the team, and that would make sense. It seemed a long time before Hotchner would trust her. I guess things must have worked out, because she's still here, but there's still something a bit odd about her. Maybe I'm imagining it; we talk briefly sometimes when she's around and she's perfectly pleasant. I only see her having a laugh and a joke with her team; no one else. She closes up around anyone else – I guess she could be a bit shy. She told me once that she moved around a lot as a kid, so maybe she's not used to the support system this job provides. I know that I wouldn't have survived over the years without my friends but the regularity with which you see them can sometimes be alarming. She looks uncomfortable now and I suspect that it won't be long before she makes a break for it, either to JJ or Penelope's offices or maybe even home. Sometimes, you have to get out and remind yourself that there is a real world out there, and the best part is that none of your fellow agents begrudge you it, because they sometimes have to do it too.

Two minutes to five. Time to start packing up the briefcase and putting on the coat to leave, and not a moment too soon. Penny and date night are calling my name. I stand up and start getting ready, when the person sat at the other desk near mine catches my attention. Doctor Spencer Reid. He's a nice kid – takes some getting used to, of course – but nice, and interesting to talk to. He's about the same age as my second son, Elliott, and the baby of the office as well as his team. I don't think that bothers him but it sure as hell bothers me. He always looks so exhausted when they get back from a case and I worry about him, especially since the drugs. Yes, I know about that. Profilers think that just because they are so good at reading other people, other people can't read them but that's not true. I knew. My boy Elliott had the same problem a few years before Spencer did – he's clean now and back at work but it meant that I knew the signs. I've never said anything to Spencer, other than telling him that he ever wanted to talk about anything, I'm always around. It wasn't my place to do anything more.

Five pm exactly. Time to get to Carl's to see if he's still open. I grab my case and walk past Spencer's desk. He's staring at a pile of paperwork in front of him and I know that even though he's had the last few days from hell, he has to do it before he can go home.

One minute past five. It's a Thursday – Carl will be shut by now, I suspect. Penny won't want me home before six. Damn. It doesn't take long for me to skirt round the desks, completely drain the coffee machine and place the cup on Spencer's desk in front of him. He looks slowly up at me.

"Hey kid," I smile gently, "Rough couple of days?"

"You could say that, Vincent," he nods, rubbing his eyes, "Thanks for the coffee."

I sit down on the edge of the desk and watch him take a sip.

"Want to talk about it?"

He points towards my coat.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not for the next ten minutes. You OK?"

I can feel eyes on me as Reid talks and I know exactly who it is watching me. All of them. They always do when I talk to him. It's a protective thing, I think, and I don't mind. They're a pretty good support network for each other most of the time but even someone like me, on the edge, can tell when something so terrible has happened that the last thing they want to do is burden one another. This is one of those times, and I know for sure because when I eventually leave twenty minutes later, Morgan catches my eye and nods over his paperwork. Profilers think they know it all. I'll let them keep thinking that.

_**He who can take no great interest in what is small will take false interest in what is great**_

_**John Ruskin**_


End file.
